My head hurts, pounding with a fierce intensity. My body feels like it ran several marathons, every fiber of every muscle sore. It takes me a second to remember. For a second, the pain is all physical, but the moment I remember, it intensifies. The physical soreness in my head and muscles from exhaustion and forcefully crying until I passed out doesn’t compare to the emotional t*****e.
The grief radiating from my chest is paralyzing. I don’t feel my heart beating. I know it is. I’m alive, so it has to be. But I can’t feel it. The acute sting of pure anguish mutes all other feeling. I still can’t wrap my head around it, yet I know it to be true.
I lost my Jax.
He’s gone.
I’m alone.
I don’t know how to go on from here.
I hear a light knock on the door before small footsteps close in on
